


Check My Vital Signs (Restart This Heart of Mine)

by safe_haven



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safe_haven/pseuds/safe_haven
Summary: [TW] Suicidal thoughts, self-harm"Wake up, fall in love again. Wage war on gravity; there's so much worth fighting for, you'll see." -Nine, Sleeping At Last
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Check My Vital Signs (Restart This Heart of Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING FOR:] Suicidal thoughts, self-harm, self-hate. Unreliable narrator, suicide attempt. 
> 
> Good morning everyone :) I hope you enjoy.

It’s quiet. 

Peter doesn’t think it’s ever been this quiet. The silence is cotton filling the room, soft and heavy. He runs his fingers over the faded scars that form ridges on his skin. A mountain range plays across his wrists, his stomach, his thighs. He closes his eyes and imagines his hand is someone else’s, for just a moment. The touch is light and gentle, coaxing. 

But when he opens his eyes, he is alone again. The hand that traces these scars are the same that made them. 

His replica of an atom emits soft blue light around his room. It makes everything softer and more innocent. Sometimes Peter feels innocent. Like a child with a caring mother and father; sometimes, he wants to be rocked to sleep or told bedtime stories, or sung lullabies. 

Peter draws himself back to the task at hand. A blank piece of paper is sitting in front of him, already heavy with the burden of holding his final words. It has already taken the title of gravestone, wet with grief that has not come yet. 

There is a pen that sits next to the paper. He stares at it, wondering what words it would write. He wishes he could see all of the stars in their proper beauty so maybe they would give him the final burst of inspiration he needs. Maybe the stars, like muses, would sing for him, and then cut his string. 

Or was that the fates? 

Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does. 

Peter knows that is he is deeply and fundamentally unloveable. No matter what he does, his face and his body and his mind are so far past saving. He considers writing this, but everyone around him already knows it. Or else they wouldn’t be letting him die right now. Everyone is letting him die. 

But it’s for the best, isn’t it? Peter’s emotions are always too much for everyone. He is a constant ocean, his emotions drowning anyone and everyone around him. It’s for the better that he dies tonight. 

The light outside grows dimmer. He finally gives up on the note. 

Peter lets his eyes wander around his room as he plans his final escape. They slide rough and haltingly against the walls. 

There are sleeping pills in Aunt May’s medicine cabinet. She is out at work right now. He could sit in the bathtub, make the cleanup easier. He remembers watching people he could not save, overdosing on pills and foaming at the mouth. His eyes close. He takes a deep breath. He can’t think about this right now. 

It’s weird to imagine that your life after today is just blank. Death is a strange concept; He is an angel who paints your eyes black. Who picks you up and lays you into a sea of ink. Watches you drown. 

Peter can already feel the water closing in over his head. He changes slowly into his favorite clothes; church clothes are for funerals only. 

The pill bottle feels weird in his hand. It feels heavy and yet light. He grabs Michelle, the weighted stuffed animal May got him after his first meltdown when he was a kid. They lay in the bathtub together, both watching the world end slowly. Peter sighs quietly, careful not to disturb the aching in his bones lest it become angry and tear at his wrists again. 

“Tony,” Peter murmurs. He begins to climb out of the bathtub, setting Michelle down gently where he used to be. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers. “I wanna talk to- T-Tony.” His words are halting but calm and quiet. 

He sits on his bed, anxiety abandoned long ago and presses the green _call_ button. 

Tony picks up right away. 

“Hey, kid. What are you doing up at 3 a.m? And why are you calling me. I’m supposed to be asleep.” 

“Hey. Can I come over? Or just facetime. I just wanted to say goodbye face to face one last time. It’s okay if not. I was just wondering.” 

There was silence from the other end. After a few minutes, Peter sighs. For some reason, these were the only times his emotions were not a constant slingshot, only the extremes ever being caught. So this did not hurt. He was just a little disappointed, but it didn’t matter much. He would be dead soon. 

“Okay. I’m sorry for bothering you. Goodbye.” 

Peter hung up. A lonely death isn’t all too bad. 

He climbs back into the bathtub and lie with Michelle.

And then the door slammed open. 

Tony was standing there, in his pajamas. The dark circles under his eyes seemed a thousand times darker, but he still raised his eyebrow, snark filling his expression. 

“Wow, kid. Stuffed animal and everything.” He let out a quiet, sad chuckle. “You really were gonna go, huh? That’s tough. Well, I’m here now. So you’ve run out of luck. Sorry, buddy.” 

While he talked, he knelt next to Peter and soothed him gently with heavy pressure on his arms and legs. 

He gently pulled him up and into a bridal style carry, still chatting to him as if he would answer. Peter allowed himself to be carried, slipping his arms around Tony’s neck and burying his face in Tony’s chest. 

Tony carried Peter out to the car and laid him in the backseat, making sure he was secured tightly before moving to the front seat. 

“Alright, kid. Let’s get you home.” 

When they arrived at the Compound, it was nearing morning. The sky was beginning to brighten. Tony carried his kid inside, and set him down on a chair. Peter reluctantly let go, settling down and assuming his previous corpse-like slumped state. 

“Do you want to explain to me why you think it’s funny to give me a heart attack?” 

Peter’s empty eyes roam around the room he supposes he should know. Nothing felt real or familiar anymore. It was as if his mind had already said goodbye to the place he would soon leave. 

“It wasn’t a joke,” he finally said. His voice didn’t waver. There was no hint of sadness or worry or defeat. He was calmer than he had ever been before. That’s what worried Tony the most. 

The older man picked up Peter’s wrist, turning it over and pushing his fingers against a spot where he could feel his pulse. He tried to ignore the purple lines sketched into his arm; they were canyons created by earthquakes no one else could feel. And Tony was starting to feel guilty he hadn’t heard the ground shaking earlier. 

“Have you done anything yet?” Tony signed. He prepared for the worst, fingers already hovering over the alarm that would alert Bruce. 

Peter sniffs, the first sign of life he had offered since he got there, and shook his head. 

“No.” 

His voice croaked out. His eyes began to brighten. “No,” he choked out again. He started to squirm as if he couldn’t find a comfortable position on the chair he was sitting on. 

“Okay, that’s good.” Tony, oblivious to these new symptoms, forged on with his questions. “What did you have planned?” 

Peter’s hand began to shake. His chest was rising rapidly, his face scrunching up as a whine escaped his mouth. Tony noticed what was happening, and when to grab at Peter’s forearms, his eyes searching the kid’s. 

Peter shoved him away. 

“Get _off_ of me!” he cried out. He covered his ears with his hands and buried his face in his knees, screaming as loudly as he could. “Why can’t I just _fucking die?_ Let me kill myself. Let me kill myself!” 

He lashed out every time Tony got near enough to touch him. There was no getting through to him. His body was on fire with sadness. 

Tony tapped the buttons to call Bruce. He demanded that the medical area be set up. This only upset Peter more. 

“Hey, hey. Kid. Listen to me.” 

Tony wrapped his arms tightly around Peter from behind. Peter struggled wildly, still screaming, but Tony held on, tightening his grip every time Peter pushed harder.

After a few minutes, Peter began to calm down. His breathing began to slow. His head lolled back, hitting Tony’s chest. They rested there for a few minutes, both trying to collect themselves. Tony lifted his hand, smoothing down Peter’s sweaty curls. He soothed him quietly, giving him a small kiss on the temple. 

“Come on,” he said. “We gotta get to the med bay.”

So together, one step at a time, they crossed the building. Peter was shaking heavily in Tony’s arms. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. His words were slurred, tears running down his quickly paling face. “Everyone hates me, and I’m just a burden. I’m just a burden to everyone. And this world would be so much better without me because I’m so sad all the time.” 

Tony pulled him along, helping him through the door and into a bed. Bruce was already there, preparing a sedative, bandages, and a stomach pump in case Peter had taken any pills. 

“Hey, kid,” Tony soothed. Peter was still mumbling, his eyes fixed on his hands as he overflowed with self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. 

“We’re going to sedate you, okay? Just to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself. You’re not in a good space. We don’t want you to hurt yourself or anyone else.” 

Peter snapped out of his daze, his eyes glazing over with anger. 

“ _No!”_

He yanked his arm out of Tony’s hand. “Don’t _touch me!_ Let me die! Let me kill myself!” 

He was screaming again, thrashing. Tony couldn’t hold him for more than a few seconds at a time. 

“Tony!” 

The door was being slammed open, and two more hands were pulling at Peter’s hands. 

“Restrain him,” Tony panted out. “I need to get the sedative in him.” 

Bucky materialized next to Steve, hands locking around Peter’s chest. Tony pushed the tranquilizer into Peter’s arm. There was a gasp, and Peter’s back arched. His eyes rolled back in his head. Then, quiet. His body slumped onto the bed, and Bucky and Steve released him. 

The silence that followed was suffocating.

**Author's Note:**

> NATIONAL SUICIDE PREVENTION HOTLINE FOR US: 800-273-8255  
> Stay safe.


End file.
